


An Old Familiar Kind of Pain

by moonlitfog



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Emotional Abuse, Fluff, Language, M/M, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Porn With Plot, Possibly Out of Character, Prompt Fic, Rape/Non-con References, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:10:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitfog/pseuds/moonlitfog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim has a bad boyfriend. Bones objects.  This is mostly aftermath, dealing with the fallout from an abusive relationship.<br/>This was a Buckle-up meme prompt fill from LJ and originally posted on LJ. I got started and just couldn't stop. As always, I failed with getting this beta-ed. This should terrify you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Old Familiar Kind of Pain

McCoy watched Jim Kirk cross the lawn, heading from the Sciences building to the Library. Jim was limping a bit, not much but enough for a doctor, and best friend, and especially enough for a man in love, to notice. McCoy frowned and started for the door before noticing his nemesis also crossing the lawn. McCoy froze and watched as Jim's new boyfriend walked up to him and smirked, a hand reaching out to wrap around the back of Jim's neck, tugging him in to a kiss.

Jim complied, mouths pressed together, open and wet, tongues appearing and vanishing as their lips worked and McCoy turned away, chest tight with too many emotions to sort. He stalked down the hall to the nurse's station, reaching for a patient chart. He ignored the wary looks he received as he glared his way down the hall. Damned fool cadets, always getting themselves hurt in the stupidest ways. 

It was late afternoon, at the tail end of his shift when he opened the door to his last patient of the day, grabbed the chart and skimmed it as he said, “How can I help you...” He trailed off when he glanced up and saw Jim with an eye blackened almost shut, an abraded mouth with a swollen, bitten lip, and a bloody track dried under his nose. His open eye was slightly dilated with pain, but he covered it, smiling and rasping, “Booones. Good to see you, man. How's it?”

“What did you do this time, Jim? What, you just can't go for a day without getting beat up? You got a thing for pain?” He was scanning Jim with a tricorder and missed the tightening of his mouth, the pained look in his eyes before the cocky Jim mask dropped back into place with an old comfortable familiarity.

“You know me, Bones. Always pushing the limits.” 

McCoy was concentrating on the data the tricorder presented or he might have noticed the flatness under the levity and the way the smile never moved past Jim's lips. Sighing, McCoy grabbed the dermal regenerator to start on the tissue damage. “Well, at least the damage is superficial. This time. You've really got to stop fighting one of these days. One day I might not be there to fix you.” _Because you'll be off living your life and I'll have been left behind._

Jim gave him an unreadable look before grinning in that devil-may-care way of his. “Can't stop fighting, old man. Stopping means you're dead.” McCoy jabbed Jim with a hypospray, eliciting a yelp. “For the pain. Now get out of here, you infant. I don't want to see you in the clinic again this week.” With a mock salute Jim sauntered out, covering the limp by walking slower than normal.

McCoy spent the night alone, studying while eating his cold pizza and drinking flat beer. Jim went to Tom's room, tensing as he rang. Tom opened the door with a cold look. “You're late. I told you to be here six minutes ago.” _Shit._ It 's going to be one of _those_ nights. 

~O~

It was four days before McCoy saw Jim again, an arm held across his ribs as he sat in the cafeteria picking at his lunch. Sitting across from him, McCoy noted the dark smudges under Jim's eyes, the tensed jaw muscles, the sheen of sweat above his upper lip. The bruises from the other day were just discolorations now but stood out more than they should against his pallor.

Standing up, he grabbed Jim by the right bicep and tugged him to his feet, wincing at the hiss of indrawn air as Jim stood. Jim pulled back and said, “What the hell, Bones?”

“Let's go. Now,” McCoy snapped and pulled Jim toward the exit. It was a testament to how Jim was feeling that he didn't demure, didn't complain or fight. He just... acquiesced... as compliant as if he were drugged. It worried McCoy.

Shoving Jim onto the biobed, McCoy grabbed the tricorder and frowned at the contusions and cracked ribs it revealed. “My holy hell, Jim, what did you do?” Jim didn't even complain about the hypospray. He just sat there, eyes glazed. “Come on, shirt off.” McCoy helped him get it up and off, Jim curling slightly as his arms stretched and pulled sore muscles. “Lay down while I get you fixed up. And tell me what happened.”

Jim's eyes closed as he lay back and finally, in a quiet voice he mumbled, “Nothing. Nothing happened. I just had a little accident. While sparring.”

McCoy drew in a sharp breath at the bruises clustered over Jim's ribcage then grunted. Looking at the swollen purple and black tapestry gave him a deep, resigned ache. It was hard enough seeing Jim with that man filling the space _he_ should be taking. Seeing Jim hurting added a whole new dimension to the pain he felt every time he saw or heard or thought of Jim. Grateful Jim's eyes were closed when he felt a sudden sting in his eyes, McCoy growled, “Yeah? Well, it looks more like you let yourself be someone's punching bag.”

He had turned away to regain his professional detachment or he would have seen Jim stiffen and his fists clench, a reaction so quickly suppressed it was gone by the time McCoy turned back and started his ministrations. He couldn't help the way his touches lingered just a moment longer than strictly necessary or the almost caresses while doing what he did best: healing Jim.

For the first time he wondered if there was a broken place inside Jim. Jim was good at covering, good at showing the world what it wanted to see. Maybe there was something inside that had found the only way of being acknowledged was by making Jim's exterior become as broken as the interior. He almost asked, had his mouth open, the first word forming when he came to his senses. This was Jim: bright, beautiful, smart, funny, carefree Jim. Sure, he hadn't grown up in the best environment, but thinking he was that damaged was taking it a bit too far, even for him.

Sighing, he patted Jim's shoulder in an affectionately tender gesture and dropped his shirt on his face. “You're done. Go on, get out of here, kid. You didn't even make it a week. Try better next time, will ya?”

Jim smiled and tugged his shirt over his head. He hopped off the bed and paused, staring at McCoy for a pregnant moment. McCoy felt an expectant prickle but the moment passed. Jim smirked, threw an arm around McCoy's shoulders in an awkward one-armed hug and left, “Thanks, Bones,” floating in his wake. McCoy wondered what Jim had decided not to say before he had left. Maybe one day he'd find out. Then he wondered if he wanted to know.

~O~

Jim stepped outside the clinic and froze when Tom threw his arms around him. “Are you OK? I was worried about you.”

“Yeah, all fixed up. Good as new.” 

Tom smiled and he looked like the man who had intrigued him that night at the bar. Smooth and charming, dark hair tangled, dark eyes intent on him, easy smile curving his full lips and Jim relaxed into the hug. This was what he lived for: the sweet moments, the tenderness, the times when he felt even for a moment that he mattered. _He_ mattered, not his father's son, or his mother's boy, the town delinquent or the genius from whom so much and nothing was expected.

Tom kissed his forehead and held him closer. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. You know that, right? You just piss me off so much sometimes. You’re so smart you’re stupid.”

Jim wasn't sure how that was supposed to make it all better. Tom didn't mean to hurt him, Tom was sorry, but in the end it was still his fault? He just nodded and said what was expected. “Yeah. It's OK. Everything's OK.”

Tom drew back and smiled then started to turn. His face tightened as he saw McCoy watching. “Oh, that friend of yours helped you? Again?”

Uh oh. He was back on thin ice and the rest of the day trembled on the thin edge of the wrong word. Turning a bit, he acted surprised. “Bo- Leonard's here? Nah, it was some guy I don't know who treated me.” McCoy was walking away now, disappearing into the depths of the clinic, to Jim's disappointment and relief. 

“Really. What was your doctor's name?” Flat. Suspicious. It was a voice just waiting to yell or drop to an icy death knell.

He'd made this mistake before, naming someone who hadn't been there when McCoy had fixed his face. That's why he’d been beaten today. Tom loved to wait and spring unpleasant surprises when he was least expecting them. Jim remembered a doctor he had seen in the clinic on his way out. With an imperceptible pause as he recalled the guy's name, he smoothly said, “Svagr. I don't know where he's from but he's got an accent.”

“Svagr? What kind of name is that?” Laughing a bit now.

“I dunno, man. I wouldn't want to try to say it drunk.”

They were both laughing now, back on solid ground. He knew Tom would be checking, to see if Dr. Svagr had been in the clinic today, but he'd be safe. This time. He relaxed into the good moment, taking what he could get, as they went off so he could make up for the lunch he'd not eaten earlier.

McCoy watched them go from an office window to the side. For a minute there, they'd seemed tense. Maybe they were fighting? Maybe they'd break up and he'd finally get the balls to tell Jim he wanted more than the friendship they had. He'd been willing before to just take what he could get, enjoy the friendship and not risk losing it over the pressures a closer relationship could pose, but this boyfriend had pushed him into being willing to risk it all. This time, Jim had kept the guy around longer than usual. They were a couple, in a real grown-up relationship, and it felt wrong to McCoy. It was wrong that Jim was with that sleazy weasel and not him. He had a feeling he was too late, Jim was lost to him, and his heart fractured.

It was Friday and he didn't have classes, or rotation or anything else tomorrow. It was a rare free day. McCoy went home and drank himself into oblivion.

~O~

The days and weeks that followed fell into a pattern. Jim would show up at the clinic with various injuries. The extent and severity ranged from black eyes and bloody or broken noses to dislocated shoulders to separated and/or cracked ribs. There were always bruises peppering his body, making a colorful patchwork displayed against his pale skin. McCoy fixed all the damage and yelled, counseled, cajoled and advised as was expected. Always Jim would stop and stare, poised to say something and McCoy would wait, but the moment would pass and Jim would leave to repeat the pattern.

It felt like being trapped in a formal dance, one ingrained into their very beings, with no deviations allowed in the rehearsed steps. The problem was Jim's eyes. They were shadowed, becoming sadder and almost desperate, but he would turn blank when questioned or when it was time for him to leave. McCoy noticed each time that even Jim's smile was becoming more forced and the spark that made him glow was guttering and threatening to die.

They'd sometimes have little conversations while Jim was being treated for another 'just an accident' or for 'no big deal, forget it' or for 'just one of those things, you know how it is, right'?

***

“Jim, we never do things together anymore. Why don't we just go out for the night like we used to do? It'd be a nice change.” _I miss you so fucking much, kid._

“Sorry, Bones, I can't. I'm sorry I haven't had a lot of time lately but it'll get better, I promise. Just give me a little time for things to calm down a bit, OK?” _I wish I could, Bones, but he wouldn't like it. At all. And I can’t risk what he’d do._

***

“There's a new exhibit at the Air and Space Museum.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Want to go?” _Please, Jim, don't say no this time. Just give me a little bit of your time._

“Nah, Bonesy, maybe later, OK? For sure. It'd be awesome. Just not now.” _Please don't give up on me. I need you._

~O~

The day Jim came in with a broken nose, a dislocated jaw and a broken right ulna, cracked radius and broken clavicle was the day McCoy had enough. “What's going on, Jim? Talk to me, please. This can't keep going on.”

Jim looked at him with a broken pleading gaze and opened his mouth before closing it with a snap. “Nothing, Bones. I'm just really clumsy or something right now. It's all good. Honest. Don't worry about me.” He dropped his eyes, fists clenching and relaxing before turning to walk away. 

McCoy reached out and grabbed his left arm and Jim flinched before freezing. “Jim, tell me what's wrong. I'm your friend. I'll help. I'll do anything for you.” McCoy's voice trembled and cracked on the last part and he reached out to stroke Jim's cheek but Jim jerked away and yelled, voice angry but with an undercurrent of fear.

“Just leave it Bones. Nothing's wrong. Stop trying to fix everything. There's nothing to fix. Just leave me alone.”

McCoy watched him leave. He would be broken-hearted right now if he hadn't heard that fear. Instead, he was furious. James Tiberius Kirk couldn't have been clearer if he had painted “HELP ME” in screaming neon fifty foot tall letters. He thought back through the past months: the escalating injuries, the increasing frequency of them, the way Jim had surreptitiously become more withdrawn.

McCoy wasn't positive who was doing this to Jim (although he suspected), but he was damned well going to find out. When he knew for sure he was going to first beat the ever-living shit out of them for hurting the best thing to ever walk the earth (in his humble opinion) and then beat the ever-living shit out of himself for missing the clues for so damned long.

~O~

He started by following Jim as unobtrusively as possible around campus. He didn't see any cadets, not even the one Jim had insulted by nicknaming 'Cupcake', who acted in the least bit aggressively toward Jim. Even in hand-to-hand combat classes every partner he was matched with was friendly, jovial or just intent on doing well. It was pretty obvious it wasn’t a fellow classmate or someone on campus hurting him.

It was when McCoy was outside Jim's door that he heard the muffled yelling and the thuds. He hadn't gone in Jim's room without an invitation since Jim started seeing the scumbag, but he still knew the code by heart. He stepped through the door in time to hear the diatribe really get going.

“You're so smart you're stupid, you know that? You're such a waste of skin, you fuckin' loser. You just keep doing the same things over and over, you deserve this. This is your fault and you've never deserved any better.”

McCoy was into the bedroom before the last word was out and was in time to stop the bastard from slamming the bat into Jim's head. He grabbed the end of the bat while it was back over Tom's shoulder, flipped it over and slammed the end into Tom's kidney. Tom went down with a pain-filled gasp. McCoy had kicked him in the testicles and was poised to pick him back up and punch his face into next week when Jim's voice came, trembling and faint. “No, Bones. Don't.”

Jim was curled into a fetal position on the bed, arms curled protectively over his face, blood blooming on the bed under his head. Tom was moaning on the floor, the pain from the kidney shot having undone him. McCoy called campus security and then went over to check Jim. The damage wasn't too bad. He'd been in time to prevent the heavy damage Jim had been sustaining lately. A broken nose and swollen lip were the major injuries this time.

When security got there, McCoy explained the situation, about the long term abuse and the scene he'd walked in on and they took the bastard away. Before they left, the man came around enough to scream imprecations at Jim. The officers tried to shut him up but he still got out, “I told you what'd happen if I went to jail because of you, you stupid motherfucker. I'll get out and I'll kill him and then you so you’ll know it's coming.”

One of the officers snickered. “Really, Mr. Wilson? You just made a threat to cause grievous bodily harm in front of witnesses. You're not getting out until you're old and gray. Idiot.”

~O~

McCoy helped Jim up and to the clinic, both men silent the entire time. It wasn't until after he'd fixed the physical damage that he said anything. “Why didn't you tell me, Jim?”

Jim flushed and looked down at his hands clenched around each other in his lap. “I couldn't. I didn't even realize what was going on for a while, then when I did he told me what he'd do to you and I couldn't. I couldn’t risk it.”

“You know that what he was saying about you tonight wasn't true, don't you?”

Jim wouldn't meet his eyes. “Jim, look at me.” After a minute McCoy realized Jim wasn't going to look at him, and he sighed, pulling Jim to him. He cradled Jim against him, one arm curled protectively around his shoulders and the other carding through his hair, pressing his head to McCoy's chest. Jim stiffened, then relaxed into the embrace, arms going around McCoy and clinging. They stayed like that, offering and accepting comfort, until Jim's trembling eased.

“Come on, kid. Let's go get your things. You're staying with me from now on.”

Jim pulled back, shaking his head. “No, Bones. Not happening.”

“Don't argue with me, Jim. I'm your doctor and I'll make it a condition with Starfleet if I have to.”

Jim stared up at McCoy, eyes wide, churning with emotions too entangled to identify. “That's not fair, Bones.”

“Screw fair, kid. I'm doing what's right from now on. And what's right is you coming home with me.”

Jim was silent when they boxed his possessions and took them over to McCoy's room. Once inside, McCoy opened the entry closet and said, “Most of this can go here for now until you get unpacked.”

Jim nodded and they put things away. Then Jim devastated McCoy. He walked over to McCoy's bed, started stripping and said, “How do you want me?” in a dead voice.

He stared at Jim, then closed his eyes in sorrow. “No, Jim. NO. I didn't bring you here to fuck you. I brought you here so you'd have a safe place to stay, a place where there's always a friend, and nobody will hurt you again. I want you on that other bed, where you can sleep without worry.”

Jim paused, shirt off, hands on his trousers zipper, and blinked at him. “What?” The bewilderment was heartrending. Fuck, did the kid think the only thing people ever wanted from him was sex or to hurt him? How much shit had he been hiding all this time with his golden-boy facade?

“Jim.” McCoy walked over and stroked his hands along Jim's upper arms. “Look at me.” Jim looked at him, a wild creature trembling in its wariness. “Jim. I will never make you do something you don't want to do. Well, except get medical treatment, and move in here, and take better care of yourself. You know what? Never mind that. I'll never hurt you. Except with hyposprays, or … you know what? Never mind that too. We are friends, and I love you. I will never betray you or your trust if you feel like you can give it to me. I'll be here for you and take care of you. I'm not saying it will ever happen, but if we ever do have sex? It'll be because we both want it, not because I've decided I'm taking what I want from you and fuck what you want. OK?”

Jim had smiled a bit when McCoy started backtracking about what he wouldn't do to Jim, but turned serious again when McCoy said he'd never betray him. “I- it's not that I don't trust you, Bones. I do. I always have. I just – it's hard, you know? Just give me time.”

“I got nothin' but time for you, kid.”

Jim smiled, a tentative quirk of lips, and nodded. “Sorry for all the trouble, Bones.”

McCoy snorted. “Sometimes I think your middle name is trouble.”

“Well, the initial is a 'T'.”

“Don't I know it,” McCoy grumbled. He reached up and ruffled Jim's hair. “All right kid, beddy-bye time. Off you go.”

Eyes narrowed, feeling back on familiar footing again for the first time in months, Jim said, “Really, Bones? 'Beddy-bye time?' Seriously?” Shaking his head, he grabbed his discarded shirt and went over to the other bed and bounced a bit. He grinned, then sobered. “Hey, can I take a shower first?”

Rolling his eyes, McCoy paused while changing to sleepwear. “You don't have to ask me, it's your shower now, too. Do what you want.”

~O~

The next few days were tense. Jim would jerk awake, nightmares still vivid behind his eyelids, a maelstrom of verbal abuse, threats and pain. McCoy would always be there, waking with a doctor’s alertness, always ready with a comforting hug. He was ready to listen, too, if and when Jim decided he wanted to talk. He wasn’t sure Jim ever would open up about it. If he did, though, he’d be there.

~O~

“You can’t eat that, kid. It’ll kill you.” 

“But I’ll be old and gray and have enjoyed myself in the meantime.” Jim looked at him, lips turned in a half-smile, a wary challenge in his eyes.

“I can see the grease from here. Your arteries are going to clog with sludge, it’ll make your heart explode and send clots to your brain, giving you a stroke. You’ll lie in a vegetative coma drooling all over yourself. Do you really want that?”

“Sure. Bones. Hot nurses.”

McCoy rolled his eyes and grumbled, “At least eat a salad so you’ll have five minutes longer before you go out like Elvis.”

“Who?”

“You don’t… wha… how can you not… never mind. Just eat a godamned salad.” Scowling, McCoy turned away as Jim snickered. Sobering, McCoy turned back and said, “You need to go give a statement to the police Jim.”

Jim froze, fry halfway to his mouth. “I don’t know if I can do that, Bones.”

“You have to. They can’t make as good a case without your testimony.”

“Bones.” The flat, reproachful voice was supposed to deter him, but he couldn’t let this rest. So many times the abusers got away with it due to the victim's fear or lack of self-worth. He wanted Jim to do this, wanted him to stand up for himself to give him confidence and bolster the messages McCoy was trying to put across in word and deed. 

Jim dropped his head before raising it again, eyes tormented. He whispered, “Bones, what if he doesn’t go away for as long as they think? He’ll get out and … I don’t care if he hurts me, but if he hurt you…” His voice choked off and he rose abruptly, a hand running through his hair as he started pacing. 

“Jim, if you give a statement and testify, it’ll add that much more weight to all this. That’s what’ll make it so he goes away for years. You can do this. You can make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else the way he hurt you.”

Jim hesitated so long McCoy’s hope faded. He had to let Jim decide to do this on his own, he couldn’t force him, but what if he chose to let it go? McCoy waited, tense and expectant, for Jim to decide his future.

Finally, Jim turned to him looking a little lost and swallowed nervously. “Will you go with me?”

Pulling Jim into his arms, cradling him and giving him all his strength, he murmured, “Of course. Anything you need, any time, any where. You got me.”

They stood, pressed together, for minutes or hours, McCoy couldn’t tell and didn’t care. He held him tighter when he heard the small voice. “I’m so tired, Bones.” A world of weariness and futility lay in those simple words and McCoy ached anew for the man he held. “I know, Jim. I know.”

~O~

Jim held up while giving his statement, explaining how subtle Tom had been. He’d met Tom Wilson at a bar and Tom had set about literally charming the pants off Jim. Jim had been fascinated with Tom’s wit and intelligence and they’d started dating. It wasn’t long before the verbal abuse had started.

“He used to say all kinds of things. It wasn’t all the time, just when he was angry; too bad I never knew what would set him off. He’d tell me how useless and worthless I was, tell me I just couldn’t do anything right, things like that. Then one night he was drunk enough to be really mean. That was the first time he hit me. When I fought back he told me if I ever did that again he’d hurt the people I loved.

Eventually he figured out that with my Mom off-planet and my brother nowhere to be found, the only one he could easily access was Bones, so Bones was the one he’d threaten. He figured out pretty early that threatening me didn’t do a hell of a lot, I was willing to risk myself, but I wouldn’t risk Bones getting hurt.

I would have fought back anyway, but the look in his eyes when he’d tell me what he’d do to Bones…” Jim’s voice drifted off in remembered horror and McCoy rubbed his shoulder, trying to give him the strength and support he needed to finish. Jim shuddered and continued, “So, that’s why I didn’t say anything to anyone. Better for me to be hurt than some innocent.”

~O~

After it was done, they walked through the park and eventually ended up sitting on the grass, looking at the bridge in the distance. Jim had a far away look and he pulled his knees to his chest, circling his arms around them to compact himself. He looked so lost McCoy moved to kneel in front of him.

Reaching out to run his hand down Jim’s cheek, McCoy whispered, “Hey, you OK?”

Finally focusing on McCoy, Jim let his lips quirk in an aborted smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

Moving to the side, he pulled Jim to him, cradling him. Gruffly, he muttered, “Don’t lie to me, kid. You’re not fine and it’s OK. All that shit Tom said about you is just that: shit. You’re nothing like that. You’re so much better. You’re amazing.”

Distantly, Jim replied, “Yeah. Sure. I know.”

They were silent after that, going back to their room to eat and study and in Jim’s case, to stare blankly at the wall or the desk or one of his PADDs. McCoy gave him space, feeling like he needed to breath and come to grips with his altered future.

That was a bad night. Jim awoke from a series of nightmares. He was trembling, soaked with sweat, and he glanced around wildly, unfocused, before realizing McCoy was holding his shoulders in strong, confident hands.

“Bones?”

“Right here, kid. It’s all right.”

Jim studied him then his face crumpled. “I thought you were dead. I thought I failed and he killed you. I thought I lost you.” That night was the first time McCoy saw Jim cry. He cried out his fear and anger, cried out the torment that had been haunting him. He cried with gut-wrenching sobs, clinging to McCoy as though he were the only rock in a storm-swept sea.

When it was over, Jim sagged against him before he flushed and sheepishly patted McCoy’s wet shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“Be sorry when you have something worth apologizing for.”

Jim smiled then, the first real smile McCoy had seen in months.

“Go wash your face and blow your nose, kid.”

When Jim wandered in to do just that, his breath hiccuping in aftershocks, McCoy changed his shirt. When Jim was done, he led Jim back to his bed and pushed him down and over so he had room to slide in beside him. Jim tensed a bit, but McCoy pulled Jim against him, pillowing Jim’s head on his chest and patted his back.

“Go to sleep. I’ve got you.”

Jim listened to the strong heartbeat under his ear, listened to the steady breathing, felt the warmth sheltering him, felt the arm circling his back in protection, and he closed his eyes. That night may have been the first time McCoy saw Jim cry, but it was also the first night since he moved in that Jim spent more than two hours asleep without waking in a panic. He slept, safe in McCoy’s arms, and he didn’t dream.

The next day, Jim was gone when McCoy awoke. He briefly worried until he was commed.

“Hey, Bones. Lunch today? The cafeteria?”

Relieved at the upbeat tone, he replied, “Try to keep me away.”

Quiet laughter was followed by “Nah, I'm a nice guy. I’ll let you show up.”

“All right, then. 1300 hours?”

“Works for me. See you then.”

~O~

Jim was already seated at an out of the way table when McCoy walked up with his tray. Sitting down, he surreptitiously studied Jim while eating a forkful of lasagna. Jim wasn't looking as wan. His eyes were looking more alive, the spark that made him Jim appearing more often than not. McCoy wasn't stupid enough to think that just the past bit of time was enough to heal the damage that had been done, but it seemed Jim was relaxing and opening up now.

It had taken this past while to realize that, while Jim was bright and charismatic on the surface, he didn't really open up to people or trust them. He kept his core protected and private. Now that McCoy had taken the effort to protect and support Jim, he found himself seeing glimpses of the real man. Jim was far more complicated than he had previously suspected. McCoy had loved the Jim everybody was privy to: the bright, cheerful, stubborn, sometimes infuriating, devil-may-care public persona, but he now found what he had felt for that Jim was tepid compared to how he felt about the real man he was just discovering.

They didn't talk about anything important. There were no amazing revelations, no life changing realizations. They just ate lunch in each others' company. For the moment, life was perfect. McCoy left for class and evening rotation. Jim started for his class.

~O~

Everything was fine until Jim got the call. Tom's arraignment had been that day. The judge, in his infinite wisdom, had released Tom on his own recognizance. Jim skipped classes the rest of the day and drank himself into a hazed stupor. McCoy didn't know anything was wrong until he got back at 2300 hours to find Jim laying on the floor in a pool of vomit, an empty bottle of rotgut whiskey lying beside him.

“Jim?”

Jim rolled his eyes in McCoy's direction but they blearily refused to focus. “Bones? Hey, Bones.” Jim giggled. “I can't move.”

“Oh, good Lord. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.” This was really not the way he wanted to end the day.

“D'wanna. Comfy.”

“You are not staying here like this, you infant. What the hell were you thinkin', gettin' wasted like this? You got class tomorrow.”

“Not goin'. 'M stayin' here. Drin-kin'.”

Fuck. McCoy didn't know what had happened, but figured he'd better get Jim cleaned up and sobered up a bit or he'd not get any kind of satisfactory answers from him. Pulling Jim up, he mostly supported the man into the bathroom, settling him on the toilet lid. Jim almost slid off three times in a boneless heap before he got the man stripped. Removing all but his own undershirt and boxers, he got Jim into the shower and cleaned up.

After taking Jim out, forcing him into sleep pants and a t-shirt, and laying him on the bed, he threw Jim's ruined clothes into the recycler and cleaned the vomit up. Wrinkling his nose, he made as quick work of it as he could. That had to be one of his least favorite things about being a doctor: dealing with stomach contents that stubbornly refused to stay inside a person, although in this case, it was probably for the best. Dealing with acute alcohol poisoning and aspiration pneumonia (at best) were infinitely worse.

McCoy debated letting Jim sleep it off, but decided he needed to be able to sleep. Staying half awake to listen for Jim in distress wasn't going to help with that. He changed into dry clothes, then hyposprayed Jim and waited for him to sober up. Eventually, Jim sullenly went in to piss, ridding himself of more of the alcohol, and came out to pace through the room.

“Why'd you have to do that Bones? I was good with staying drunk for the next week straight.”

“What happened Jim? Talk to me. Let me help.”

“Not a lot you can do, man. What is, just is.”

“Then at least tell me 'what is'.” McCoy was getting irritated. 

Jim just paced, then started rummaging through the fridge before looking briefly in each cabinet.

“Jim. Talk.” It was sharper than he intended, but if this kept up he'd never get a handle on what the problem was.

Jim jerked, then walked over to rifle through the PADDs on the desk. “I ever tell you that I drove a classic Corvette off a cliff when I was a kid?”

“Nooo. That never came up.” McCoy's eyes narrowed. This was a diversion, but he'd let it go for now. If it didn't segue into the real problem, he'd force the issue.

Jim chuckled, no humor in the dry sound. “Man, I couldn't sit or sleep on my back for a week after that. Frank was pissed. He shouldn't have tried to sell my Dad's car.” The words came out grimly, flat with remembered rage and pain, both emotional and physical.

McCoy grunted. He'd known objectively that Jim probably had a history of childhood abuse. It still hurt hearing it confirmed. Driving a car off a cliff was a reaction to more than a man trying to sell a beloved possession. It was a call for help, one that had probably been ignored. “Frank?”

“My step-father. Bastard.” The last word was filled with venom. Jim rearranged the items on his nightstand, all nervous energy and trepidation.

McCoy nodded, aware of Jim's sidelong glances. He was being tested and was only partially aware of the material. Unfortunately, he had the feeling this was a pass/fail situation. There would be no retests. He studied Jim, trying to decide on the best response. He settled for “Is your Mom still with him?” 

Apparently the question was acceptable. “Yeah. Well, not with him with him, since she's off-planet and he's in Iowa, but they're still married.” 

“Did she know?” That sounded like he was talking about the car and the reprisal, but he figured Jim would understand what he was really asking was, 'Did she know Frank was abusing you and if she did, did she do anything about it?'

Jim paused, pondering. McCoy knew this was something Jim had thought long and hard about. It had to be. “You know, I don't know. I never told her, but I don't know if she suspected or not. She was gone so much with her job she never had a chance to see for herself so … I doubt it? It was hard for her and she does love me, but she had a hard time dealing with her issues about Dad, so she kind of ran away a lot.” He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.

“You never told her?” He said it as neutrally as he could, not wanting to imply Jim was at fault if he hadn't said anything. 

Jim sighed and wandered over to straighten the holos on the desk. “She'd already been hurt so much when Dad...” His pain-soaked voice trailed off. “She looked so happy when they got married. I couldn't ruin that. She'd already been hurt enough. She's my Mom, you know? How could I tell her the man she married beat me for fun, or because he was drunk, or he'd had a bad day, or it was cloudy, or a thousand other reasons? It would have hurt her so much.”

Jim sounded so lost then that McCoy couldn't help going to him and holding him, cradling him, thanking him soundlessly for trusting him with this. Jim froze, body strung like a tight wire. He stood, tense, in McCoy’s arms before abruptly sagging against McCoy, head dropping to his shoulder, arms going around his waist and holding tight. McCoy realized Jim was shuddering. It was an eternity before he mumbled, “They let Tom out today.”

It was McCoy’s turn to stiffen. “What? How could they do that?”

“They said he wasn’t a flight risk and let him out on his own recognizance. The trial is in a month.”

McCoy was silent, the white-hot rage warring with the red haze that suddenly filled his vision. He wanted to punch something until either it or his fist broke. It wasn’t until Jim groaned that he realized he’d wrapped his arms tightly enough around Jim’s shoulders that he’d made it hard for him to breathe.

He gasped, “Sorry, I’m sorry, Jim.” The apology was for the too-tight hug, but Jim took it to mean he was sorry about Tom’s release. “Not your fault. Just some judge’s fucked up idea of justice. At least he won’t be trying the case.”

“It’ll be OK, Jim. We’ll make it and he’ll get put away. It’ll be OK.” The words were as much for him as for Jim. He vowed if he saw that son-of-a-bitch anywhere near Jim, he’d take him apart and put him back together in new and innovative ways. He wouldn't make him wish he had never been born, he’d make the bastard wish he could just fucking die.

Jim sighed and nodded into his shoulder. “Yeah. Just a month. We just have to make it a month.” He didn’t sound hopeful. “At least there’s a no-contact order. He has to stay 500 meters from me at all times.” Steel filled Jim’s voice. “First time he comes closer than that I’m getting him thrown back inside.”

McCoy grinned, a feral baring of teeth. That was the kind of reaction he wanted to hear. Jim standing up for himself was a victory that set his heart soaring. Damn if he didn’t love this man more every day. He kissed Jim’s temple and carded his hand through the short hair.  
He pushed Jim away before he could get the idea McCoy was going to use this to push an intimate contact Jim didn’t want and held Jim’s face cupped between his hands. He smiled approvingly at him before touching their foreheads together. Pulling back he said, “Good man. We’ll both keep a lookout and make sure campus security is notified. We’ll make it, Jim. Now, d'you think you can sleep or do you want something to help?”

Jim shook his head. “No. I don’t want to be drugged. I can sleep. How about you?”

“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. I’ll be fine.”

Jim laughed softly. “We’re a pair. I worry about you, you worry about me. Let’s get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning. Right?” The ‘right’ was tentative, unsure, and Jim hesitated before blurting out, “Stay with me?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Anything, Jim. Anything you need.”

Jim smiled but his eyes were shadowed. “I owe you, man.”

“No. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes I do, Bones. I owe you everything.”

McCoy’s heart tried to twist and warm at the same time. He didn’t want Jim feeling a debt to him for simple friendship and love, but he also reveled in hearing Jim acknowledge him. He felt twisted in a confused maelstrom of feelings. Deciding it was better to just stop and sleep in order to allow both of them to settle down mentally and emotionally, he clapped Jim on the shoulder. 

“C'mon, let's sleep. We could both use it.”

They curled up on Jim’s bed, Jim’s back pressed to McCoy’s chest. McCoy draped his arm over Jim’s chest and Jim sighed before wrapping a hand around McCoy’s wrist. He slid a thumb along the wrist before mumbling “Night” and relaxing into a troubled sleep.

McCoy spent the night alternating between a fitful doze and a semi-alert wakefulness, soothing Jim when he mumbled or jerked in the grip of another unpleasant dream. It was the early pre-dawn before either sunk into a sleep free of disquieting visions. They managed to get in a couple hours of solid rest before stumbling through a day fraught with too many nerves.

~O~

They settled into a routine consisting of a hyper alertness during the hours they were away from their dorm, ever watchful for Tom, then study and a restless sleep. McCoy was grateful the time was passing fairly rapidly. They couldn’t keep this up for very long. They were being stretched too thin.

It was three weeks before the trial when the harassing comms started. At first there was nothing but dead air, or sometimes a vague background muttering. It gradually changed to growls, cursing and general abuse in a low, unidentifiable voice. After a week of random calls, sometimes forty or fifty a day, the first threat was issued.

“Jimmy, baby. I just want you to think about what you're doing here, all right? Will it be worth losing your boyfriend for?”

Jim's breath froze at the first syllable and whooshed out with a flare of panic at the silence at the call's end. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He'd known logically who was comming him, but having that voice confirm it... just... _shit_. His eyes closed as nausea twisted through him.

The comms continued at random times of the day and night. He was losing sleep, would be losing sleep just from being woken every few hours, but the stress was robbing the sleep he did get of its usefulness.

They continued, the threats getting more direct and more descriptive. The descriptions of the damage Tom intended to cause Bones if Jim testified gave him bouts of dry heaves. He almost commed the DA's office to call off the trial, but the thought of Bones's disappointment if he did stopped him before he could finish the connection. He felt ragged and looked worse.

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and wiped the film of condensation away so he could stare at the flat, dead pits his eyes had become. He stared at his reflection, at the bags and circles that looked so much like permanent black eyes. He stared at the hollows in his cheeks, the too prominent bones from not eating enough due to stress. He stared at the hair that was lank even though it was still wet from the shower. Fuck. He looked like the living dead and felt worse. Then he heard Bones's voice from the other room.

He pressed against the door, listening. He normally wouldn't eavesdrop like that, but the anger in Bones's voice ran a spike of fear through his chest.

“The fuck you think you're playin' at, asshole?”

“Ain't no way that's ever happenin', you fucked up piece of shit.”

“How's about you just go take a space walk without a suit?”

“You really get off on threatenin' and hurtin' folks, don't ya? You're a pathetic loser.”

Jim heard Bones drop something he assumed was the communicator on the desk and wander into the kitchen. He walked out and leaned against the kitchen door jamb, studying Bones. Bones was tense, almost vibrating, and he slapped his hand against the wall, a hard crack of sound that made Jim jerk reflexively. 

McCoy whipped his head around at the peripheral movement and his eyes widened. “Jim, I didn't know you were here.”

“Obviously.” 

McCoy stared at Jim uneasily. “How long have you been here?”

“For about an hour.”

McCoy deflated and passed a hand over his eyes, a sigh escaping. 

“Was that Tom?”

McCoy debated his options, but how could he deserve Jim's trust if he was willing to lie to him? Little white lies like 'No, cadet reds look _good_ on you' were one thing. Lying about the important things was not an option. 

“Yeah. It was.”

Jim was expressionless. “How many times has he commed you?”

“Too damn many. It started a couple weeks ago.”

“What does he want?”

“What do people like him always want? He wants me to get you to drop the charges. He threatens. He rants. He pisses me off.” McCoy shrugged.

“Fuck. Why didn't you tell me?”

“Same reason you didn't tell me, Jim.”

Jim blinked, then quirked his lips. “Yeah. Guess so. So now what are we gonna do?”

“Oh, don't worry about that one Jim. I got it covered.” McCoy had a secretive smile that prodded a flare of curiosity in Jim. McCoy saw the flicker in Jim's eyes and inwardly gloated. He'd been worried about Jim the past few weeks. It gratified him to see the spark reappear.

“How do you have it covered, Bones? What's going on?”

“For this once, trust me. OK? It's all gonna to be OK, Jim, but I ain't goin' to tell you any details. Just hang on. Just for a few more days. Can you do that?”

Jim stared at him. Bones had never let him down or hurt him in any way that mattered. Maybe, this once, he could just relax and let Bones call the shots. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, before simply saying, “OK.”

McCoy didn't even have to try to project a rough and grumpy persona. He _was_ rough and grumpy. He was also absurdly sentimental and emotional, it's just that he was good at hiding that part of himself. Jim's reaction, knowing how much it must have cost the man, robbed him of breath. He managed not to get teary-eyed, but it was a close call. His throat was tight when he smiled and muttered, “Good man.”

~O~

It was an unspoken agreement not to talk about the comms. It was also an unspoken agreement not to silence them, to take them and to listen in when they were around each other when the comms came in. Jim thought it was better to be available. If he could reach Jim by comm he may not feel the urge to appear in person. McCoy had his own reasons for answering all the comms but he wasn't sharing.

~O~

It was two days before the trial, after a particularly vicious conversation with Jim when the door chime sounded. McCoy opened it and managed to duck to the side when Tom shoved in and whirled on him, knife in hand. He jerked to the side, kicking out when Tom sliced across his arm, but the door was open again and a police officer took Tom down.

The assistant DA was at McCoy's side, gripping his arm. “Sorry about that. We intended to get him after he was inside the room but before he was able to get to you. Well, now we have him for assault with a deadly weapon, so it's one more charge to throw in there.”

McCoy glared at all and sundry. “Fine. Are we done here? I want this cleared out before Jim gets back.”

“Too late, Bones.”

Jim was hovering in the doorway, wild-eyed, ashen and shaking. Tom was spitting in rage, shouting and thrashing against the restraints and hands grasping his arms. He managed to kick an officer and was hogtied for his pains, which pushed him into a frenzy.

“Get him out of here,” the assistant DA snapped, her previously unruffled demeanor cracking when she saw Jim's distress. Tom was hauled off the floor and Jim backed into the corner to allow the group to exit. 

Holos were taken of the cut, apologies were made and the assistant DA told them not to expect to need to show up in court. With all the new evidence, including the recordings of the threatening comms, the attack on McCoy, and a prior boyfriend coming forward to provide a statement about his abuse at Tom's hands, the assistant DA expected a plea deal would be made. She intended to see Tom serve in a penal colony off-world.

When she left, Jim turned to McCoy who was finishing with the dermal regenerator. “Recordings of the comms?”

McCoy sighed. “Yeah. When I got the first one I figured you were probably getting them too, so I went to the DA's office. They had it set up to record all incoming comms both of us got. They've been tracking it all. They decided to wait and see what he would do. They had a watch on him. They let me know he was headed here and wanted to wait until he was in here to take him down. More nails for his coffin.”

He started when Jim slammed his hand into the wall. “Damn you Bones,” Jim snarled, face red and teeth bared. “What the fuck were you gonna do if they hadn't been right there? What if Tom'd got you and it wasn't just your arm he cut? What if it was your throat? What would you have done then? What would I have done?” He punched the wall again and McCoy heard bones snap.

McCoy threw his arms around Jim, holding his arms tight to his sides. “Stop it, Jim.”

Jim wrenched, throwing them sideways and they bounced against a bed before tipping to the floor. McCoy was disoriented from the twist/whirl/crash and his grip slackened. Jim rolled on top of him, pinning him down by the wrists to either side of McCoy's head, forearms pressed together while Jim snarled into McCoy's face. 

“How dare you risk yourself like that? Why didn't you tell me they were going to do this? I would have stayed here to make sure you were OK. How could you do this to me?”

Softly, in a pained voice, McCoy answered. “Jim. You've already been through too much. I didn't want you to have one more thing to have nightmares about. I wanted to protect you for a change.”

“A change from what?” It was an enraged growl.

“A change from all the other people in your life. All the ones who didn't protect you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. But I want you to be able to rely on someone else. I don't want you to be alone without anyone watching out for you. I want to have your back.”

“What good will it do for you to have my back if you get yourself killed and I lose you forever? Don't _ever_ do this to me again, Bones. I'll never forgive you if you die doing something stupid like trying to protect me.”

“Dying's the last thing I want to do. And trying to protect you is one of the least stupid things I can think of.”

“If it means you getting hurt or killed, it's stupid.”

“Well, do you have any more crazy ex-boyfriends hanging around?”

Jim blinked. “Well, no.”

“Then it ain't going to be an issue, is it?”

Jim snorted, but the intensity eased off. He looked calmer, less like he intended to conduct building demolition with his body.

McCoy wriggled. “Uh, Jim? You wanna let me go and get off now?”

Jim sat up, but his right hand remained locked around McCoy's left wrist. He gazed at McCoy uncertainly, then said, “Um, Bones? I can't let go. My hand stiffened up and I can't let go.”

“Damn it, you infant. That's what you get for punching innocent walls. They defend themselves. Get off me and I'll see what I can do.”

Jim moved to the side and McCoy gently pried Jim's fingers off McCoy's wrist. Jim hissed at the flare of pain. 

“How the fuck did you manage to grab my wrist with a broken hand, anyway?”

“I have a freakishly high pain tolerance.” Jim shrugged.

McCoy didn't want to think about whether that particular trait was nature or nurture. He grunted in response, then groaned when he stood and his knees popped. “Shit, Jim, I'm too old for these kinds of shenanigans.” Dragging Jim over to the bed, he made him sit while he pulled out the tricorder. “You know, I'm surprised you can break any bones in your hand considering how many times these bones have already been broken and knitted together again. You really need to learn some effective anger management techniques. You know, techniques that don't involve defenseless inanimate objects or broken hands. Go for a jog or something.”

Jim choked out a laugh. “If I went for a jog every time I wanted to punch something, I'd have legs of steel, man.”

McCoy jammed a hypospray into Jim's neck. “Shit, warn me next time, would ya? What is that, anyway?”

“Analgesic. For the pain. And where would be the fun in warning you?”

Jim crowed. “I knew it! You get off on inflicting pain by hypospray. You are a sick, sick man.”

“I never claimed to be anything else.” The slow smirk should have freaked out Jim, but instead he felt a frisson as he watched McCoy working on his hand, using the osteo-regenerator and palpating the hand to manually verify the efficacy of the treatment. Since when had he had this desire for his best friend twisting along his spine and into his heart?

When McCoy set the medical tools aside and patted his hand, saying, “You're done, asshole. Don't make me do this again,” he pulled McCoy down to sit on the bed by his side. “Jim?” McCoy froze when Jim slid his palm along his cheek and leaned in. Their lips fit together with a warm, chaste press, in a tentative exploration. McCoy allowed it to continue longer than he should have, then put his hand against Jim's shoulder to gently separate them.

“Jim, we need to stop now.” His voice was roughened just from that innocent contact. It was a good thing he had well-honed self-control. If he didn't, he would be well and truly tempted to take this opportunity and run with it. Instead, he stood to gather the tricorder and osteo-regenerator. Guilt wormed through him. He shouldn't have let Jim kiss him, shouldn't have let the kiss linger, should have stopped it before it started. He was pathetic.

“What's wrong, Bones? I thought you said you love me. I thought you'd want this.”

Anger, frustration and guilt warred as McCoy snapped, “I do. Fuck, Jim.” He took a deep breath and worked to get his voice under control. Smoothing his tone, he continued. “I do love you. I do... I want... Damn it. I don't want anything you don't want. And you don't want me, don't want this. It's just a reaction to the stress. This, what you're feeling, isn't real.”

Jim snapped, “How do you know what I'm feeling?” He was back to the anger, on an emotional seesaw.

McCoy sighed. “Jim. It's been a stressful day after months of hell. I can't let something happen when you're reacting to that and not what you really feel. It would be as much an abuse as anything else you've experienced.”

“Fuck you, McCoy. I'm out of here. You don't want me I'll find someone who does.”

Jim was gone before McCoy could stop him. McCoy tried to follow, but Jim had vanished. McCoy spent the night trolling through every location he thought Jim might have gone, all the dive bars, clubs, back alleys and campus hidey-holes he knew Jim frequented. He couldn't find him anywhere. _Damn it, is there any way I could have possibly fucked this up worse? Where are you, Jim?_

~O~

It was a week before Jim stumbled in at 0300 hours, drunk and bloody. McCoy started awake from his fitful sleep and cursed when he saw the mess Jim had made of himself. He'd gotten a change of clothes from somewhere. It had probably been a nice t-shirt at some point before it had been splattered with vomit, come and blood. The thighs of his jeans had patches of blood at the knees and streaks along the thighs. He hadn't bothered removing the start of a beard he had going and probably hadn't showered in days judging by the matted greasy mop his hair had become.

“Oh, dear Lord, what is wrong with you? You just can't live without your life bein' in chaos?”

Jim grinned with a bloody flash of teeth. “Gotta have some kin-a fun. Work off stress. Get a lil lovin'.” 

McCoy shoved Jim into the bathroom. “Strip and get your smelly ass in the shower. How can you stand to even be around yourself right now?”

“Love m'sel, Bonesy, e'en if nob'dy else does.”

“Coulda fooled me with the way you try to self-destruct. Just get showered, you moron.” When Jim was finally listing against the shower wall, randomly rubbing soap on bruised skin, McCoy threw away Jim's clothes. They weren't even worth trying to salvage. He found clothes for Jim and dumped them by the sink. He was turning to leave Jim to finish up when Jim called him back.

“Boooones.”

Sighing, McCoy snapped, “What, Jim? I'd like to get a little sleep tonight.”

“I can't wash m' hair.”

McCoy would have felt bad for Jim when he heard the slurred weariness in his voice if he wasn't so worn from the worry and searching he'd done trying to find the imbecile. Growling, he stuck his hand through the door to cursorily rub shampoo through the mess. “Rinse off, you jackass.”

Jim fell once when he was drying off and wobbled out of the bathroom to hop on one foot, the other tangled in the leg of the sleep pants before falling on the bed. He flailed a bit then just lolled his head, legs and one arm dangling off the bed.

“Damn it, Jim. I'm a doctor, not your godamned babysitter.”

McCoy manhandled him up onto the bed and under the covers. He pulled out his tricorder and scanned Jim. Not finding any broken bones or serious injuries, he decided to leave all the superficial damage unhealed. Maybe it was time for a little tough love. It would do Jim good to wake up sore and regretting this past week. Perhaps it was a little petty (actually, a lot petty if he was honest with himself) but he wanted Jim to suffer for all the worry McCoy had endured this past week.

McCoy stomped back over to his own bed and threw himself down on it. “Lights,” he snapped and rolled on his side. He ignored the fact that he was turned toward Jim. He ignored the fact that he was going to spend all night listening for Jim in distress. He was undyingly grateful that they were on break and the only thing he had to worry about when they woke was a shift at the clinic. 

Jim sounded subdued when he mumbled, “Sorry, Bones. Sorry 'm so mush trouble. Mush. Much trouble. Beder if you di'n't never met me. Allus trouble for e'rybody.” His breath hitched on the last work and McCoy gritted his teeth. So much for sleep. Pressing his lips together, brows beetling, he stomped over and shoved at Jim. 

“Move over, you idiot.” Sliding in he pulled Jim against him. “I ain't never regretted meetin' you or knowin' you. Some of the damned fool shit you do pisses me right the hell off, though. I wish you'd grow up steada actin' like an oversexed twelve year old with a temper control problem.”

Jim hiccuped and muttered, “Sorry. I'n – I'm so sorry.”

“Stop being sorry. Just don't do this to me again, OK? I almost killed myself lookin' for your fool ass. I've been everywhere lookin' for you. I can't take this kinda thing again, Jim.”

“You looked for me?”

“Of course I did. I needed to know you were all right. I thought you'd gone out and got yourself killed or something when I couldn't find you.”

Jim hugged him. “Nobody e'er cared 'nough to come lookin' for me a'fore. You're a bes' frien' I e'er had, Bones.” McCoy thought he heard “I lu' you” just before Jim snored, but it could have been the wind. He finally drifted off, chest tight with sorrow, longing and gratitude he hadn't lost Jim forever.

~O~

Jim acted like they were back to the pre-Tom days when he woke up again. They continued in that vein for the next few months, Jim and McCoy being 'bestest friends ever' with an occasional test thrown McCoy's way. The tests always came in the form of questions and statements tossed out at random. 

“Hey, Bones, I ever tell you about the first time Frank dislocated my shoulder and told me it was my fault for being so pathetic?”

“Hey, Bones, I ever tell you about that time I ran away from home and some guy took me home with him? Was my first time with a guy. I was 15. Didn't learn until a few years later you're supposed to use lube and prep your partner. Fuck that hurt.”

“Hey, Bones, I ever tell you about the time those two guys caught me by surprise and beat me unconscious? Woke up with one of their pricks in my ass. Wasn't expecting that. They made me stay overnight in a hospital that time.”

McCoy learned to dread the phrase 'Hey, Bones, I ever tell you about...'. It was such a crap shoot, whether it would be some hilarious misadventure involving a blow-up doll, cotton candy and motor oil in an admiral's yard or a devastating recollection guaranteed to rip out another piece of McCoy's heart. The funny stories helped McCoy keep his sanity; the other ones, the ones that gave McCoy bad dreams so imagine what it must be like in Jim's head, were McCoy's penance for the whole Tom and aftermath fiasco. They probably weren't intended to be his penance, but that's how McCoy looked at them. The fact that the gave him fresh insight into Jim was merely a side effect.

McCoy always listened, didn't offer pity, just accepted and asked non-judgmental questions where he thought it was appropriate. Jim always looked an odd mix of puzzled and satisfied when those conversations drifted to safer territory. McCoy assumed he was passing the tests when Jim stayed in his room, in his life, and kept McCoy in his heart. The conversation that started with “Hey, Bones, I ever tell you about starving on Tarsus IV?” was the one that nearly broke him.

~O~

Things subtly changed on a sunny day when McCoy walked past two students raucously laughing about the latest Kirk sexcapade. He tried to ignore the idiots, but snapped when one of them snorted derisively that “he's just a fucking whore. He'll fuck anything that's living and I'm not sure he's limited by even that. And if he can't fuck 'em he'll beat 'em. Literally.”

He didn't know what came over him, but he turned and used both fists to grab the shirt of the brat to use in slamming him back against the wall by which they stood. “You mouthy little bastard. Keep your godamned mouth shut about Jim Kirk. He's smarter, more driven and a thousand times better than a little piss-ant like you will ever be. You ain't good enough to lick his boots. I hear you bad-mouthin' him again, I'll give you somethin' to really talk about, y'hear?”

He pushed the kid back against the wall one more time and spun on his heel, face a mask of fury. He only made it five feet, the stunned cadets staring after him, when he froze at the sight of Jim lounging against the wall around the corner of the building. McCoy felt his face flush and stalked off, embarrassed at being caught losing his temper like that. Jim stared after him with a speculative look.

~O~

At their room that night, Jim asked, “Why did you say those things to that guy?”

“Cause they were true.”

“You could get in trouble for assault for grabbing him like that.”

“It'd be worth it.”

Jim blinked at him, eyes piercing. When McCoy rubbed the back of his neck in remembered irritation, Jim walked over and hugged him. “Thanks, man. You're the first person to defend me like that. It was nice.”

“Yeah, well, don't get too used to it. I won't defend you if what someone's sayin' is true.” He grinned to show he was teasing and ruffled Jim's hair. Jim batted his hand away and his eyes softened as he looked at the grin still spread on McCoy's face. Tentatively he leaned forward and softly molded his lips over McCoy's. McCoy's breath hitched and his arms came up to hold Jim's biceps. It was a sweet kiss, full of burgeoning promise, a gentle press and slide. They pulled apart after a few seconds and McCoy rubbed his thumb over Jim's cheek.

“You keep doin' that, kid, and I'll start to think you might be interested in me.”

“Maybe I am, Bonesy, maybe I am.”

They left it at that, McCoy resolved to let Jim take things at a pace with which he was comfortable. It did sorely test his self-control, though, and the cold shower was proof. He was doomed if they ever involved tongues in a kiss and anything more than that would probably result in his spontaneous combustion.

~O~

There were repeats of the kiss, some short, some a bit longer, over the next week. It was another test, of sorts, this time for Jim. He was seeing how it felt, if he felt right about Bones, if he wanted more on a sustained basis. He didn't want to lose what they had, but he had the sense it could be so much more, so much better. He did know that if he decided to involve himself physically with Bones, that would be it. Bones might not demand fidelity, but he would demand it of himself. Bones deserved it.

He'd never before felt this fluttering in his stomach when they kissed, the instant increase in his heart rate and the loss of breath he got just from those tiny chaste kisses. It was the fluttering that gave him pause. He knew from descriptions in books and talking to prior conquests that butterflies were a sign you were really into someone, maybe all the way into in love with them. It was a thrilling, dangerous feeling, almost like a good version of the feeling he'd had when he'd driven his Dad's car off the cliff. He thought maybe he was in love. He thought it might even be a good thing.

He knew intellectually that Bones had been right when he'd stopped them from having sex after Tom's arrest for assaulting Bones. He knew Bones hadn't been pushing him away from disgust or dislike or an urge to humiliate him. It had taken over a week to come to terms with the hurt, though, more than a week to admit to his heart that it would have been wrong for either of them to let it progress beyond the kiss. After he'd accepted that Bones cared enough about him not to take advantage of him, he opened up his mind to the possibility of loving Bones in return, as more than a friend.

He'd been slowly won over. Bones accepted him, didn't feel sorry for him but hated what others had done to him. He never thought of Jim as anything other than an innocent. In Bones's eyes, Jim was a good man who was worth loving, even as fucked up as he was, and it began to heal hidden fractures in his heart and mind. He found himself slowly becoming a person he liked and started to want to be the kind of man he thought was worthy of Bones. He might already have Bones's love, but he thought maybe now he wanted to deserve it.

~O~

Two weeks later, they found themselves on the Enterprise, facing Nero and things went to shit.

It took a month after they arrived back on Earth to get past McCoy's failure to defend Jim with Spock and Pike. A month for Jim to admit that, yes, McCoy had been shell-shocked to find himself on a spaceship, in the heart of his darkest phobia, unable to think, much less form coherent arguments in Jim's support. It had taken McCoy a month to do anything other than make drunken recriminations against himself. It had taken a month for them to apologize instead of pretending it had never happened. A month to lance the wound and let it begin to heal. A whole, fucking, wasted month when so many didn't have any more time.

~O~

They had just received word on the finalized crew for the Enterprise, and knew they would be boldly going together into space and their future. McCoy was terrified of the thought, terrified of five years in the dark deep, but for Jim, he'd walk through fire, so he sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders.

It had taken Jim's spark,his brash confidence and charisma to pull him from the bitter morass of self-doubt and anger into which he'd fallen. It was Jim's trust that had allowed him to open up to the possibilities in life again. It had been Jim who had given him the courage to love again. He would be there for Jim, giving him back as much as he could, regardless of what permutation their friendship encompassed, for as long as he was able.

He and Jim were in their dorm room when McCoy held Jim's face between his palms and said, tears in his eyes, “I'm so sorry for failing you.”

Jim replied, “I'm sorry for not talking this out with you before now.”

They did talk, and forgave, and finally kissed. This time, it wasn't tentative. They kissed with the pent up feelings they had each been suppressing. It was long and slow and deep and wet, their lips parting and tongues meeting in an achingly sweet imitation of what their bodies would soon be experiencing. They kissed their way to Jim's bed before McCoy overbalanced and fell across it with an “Oof” as Jim landed atop him. McCoy lightly slapped Jim's head when he laughed and then kissed him again, drawing him down tighter to him.

Jim paused, a cautious look frozen on his face when McCoy pushed him away. “Get off me, Jim. Oh, don't look like that. We can't get much further if we still got our clothes on, idiot.”

Grinning, they stripped each other with curses and fumblings and tangled clothes and laughter. Always, there was the laughter, scattered in between soul-searing kisses and gasps as they explored each other, learning the new territory of their love. They ended up with Jim on the bed, McCoy hovering over him. McCoy was leaning down to kiss him again when Jim suddenly turned his head and sneezed, his knee jerking up and hitting McCoy in the thigh.

McCoy gasped, “You fucker,” as he sat up on Jim and gripped his leg, massaging to ease the pain.

“No, I'm going to be the fuckee, you're going to be the fucker, Bones.” Those words robbed McCoy of breath.

“Are you sure, Jim?”

A soft smile transformed Jim as he nodded and softly said, “Yeah. I'm sure.”

McCoy leaned back down and pulled Jim's lower lip between his teeth, sucking it before slipping his tongue inside, tasting and licking until they were lightheaded. “I'll make it good, Jim.”

“I'm counting on it.”

McCoy explored Jim's face, tasted his temples and brows and cheekbones, kissed along his jaw to his earlobe before licking it then nuzzling against his ear. He kissed and licked down Jim's throat, feeling Jim's adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed and gasped. “Bones, what are you doing?”

Jim's hands were trying to push McCoy down his body, trying to speed things along, uncomfortable with the attention he was receiving. “Shh, Jim.” McCoy licked into Jim's mouth again, then sucked Jim's tongue into his own mouth. When he got a groan from Jim he pulled back. “Shh, let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good.”

Jim closed his eyes, then nodded. “Just not real used to it being this way around.”

“I know, but I'm fixin' to change that, darlin'.”

Jim's breath sucked in at the endearment and a smile curved his lips. It stunned McCoy. Jim was so knowledgeable but so innocent in the things that really mattered. He would never fathom what he'd done to deserve to be the one who got to show him what this oh-so-intimate act should truly be like.

He returned to Jim's neck, nibbling down to his collarbone and across to the opposite shoulder before returning to Jim's mouth again. Jim was moving slowly under him, pressing his belly to McCoy's, his hands stroking along McCoy's sides gently, as though he was afraid of pushing too hard and bringing everything to a stop.

When McCoy kissed down to Jim's chest again, Jim moaned and slid his thigh along McCoy's hip. “Damn, Bones, I didn't know it could feel so good when you're just being kissed.”

McCoy, smiled. “Just you wait, sugar. It gets better.”

“How? Not possible.”

“Trust me.”

“I do.”

“I know.”

A thumb circled Jim's nipple while he licked at the other and Jim's hand came up to run through McCoy's hair. His lips were wet and parted, breath heavy with arousal. He tilted his head up to watch as McCoy ran his tongue along his sternum and down to circle his navel before dipping in and then kissing along the bottom of his ribs. Jim dropped his head back down with a huff. He giggled when McCoy ran his hand up Jim's ribs and McCoy leaned up to scowl at him.

“You laughin' at my technique? Impertinent pup.”

Jim's head whipped back up, eyes wide with the start of a protest when he realized McCoy was slyly smirking. He put his palm on McCoy's forehead and pushed backwards before McCoy pressed his head back to Jim's stomach. 

“Now who's being a brat, Bones?”

A short gruff laugh was followed by McCoy sucking on his hipbone then kissing along the line down his groin. Jim's belly flexed and his cock twitched when McCoy licked along the crisp hair to the other side, cleverly avoiding any contact with his dick. Fuck, Jim was aching now, unable to form a coherent thought as McCoy moved back up to kiss him breathless.

He heard a fumbling, as a drawer slid open, then “Fuck fuck fuckity fuck” as McCoy dropped the lube and had to slide half off the bed to retrieve it. Jim couldn't resist and slapped McCoy's ass, perched so temptingly unprotected.

McCoy whipped back up and snarled, “Just for that, I'm makin' this last longer, darlin'.”

“Oh. Oh, god no. Bones. I can't last if you do that.”

The most evil grin Jim had ever seen worked its way over McCoy's lips and he drawled, “Revenge is sweet, honey,” in that smooth, dark, sinful voice. 

Jim arched against McCoy in reaction. “You're going to kill me here, Bones. I'm going to have a heart attack and it'll all be your fault.”

“S'OK, sweetheart. I know CPR.”

Another long kiss that made Jim try to rut against McCoy was followed by a repeat of McCoy kissing down his neck, pausing to suck on his neck, forcing the blood to the surface. Jim had done his fair share of marking others, but had never been marked himself and it was indescribably erotic knowing this man wanted the world to know Jim belonged to him. Jim's hands started kneading on McCoy's shoulders as McCoy laved his nipples before pinching one, making Jim buck in reaction.

“Oh, fuck, Bones.” Jim was groaning now, breath coming fast and hard while the blood roared in his ears.

McCoy just licked the offended nub again and moved lower, baptizing the curves and planes of Jim's chest and stomach before running his teeth along the skin following the thin trail of hair down to his pubic hair. He stroked along Jim's thighs, gently urging them apart, while he nuzzled down to the base of Jim's cock. Jim had a hand in McCoy's hair and the other twisted in the bedspread now and McCoy raised his head to peer at Jim.

“You still okay, darlin'?”

“No. 'M dyin'. S'your fault.” The words were forced out around panting gasps and McCoy chuckled a little as he slicked his fingers.

“CPR, remember?”

“Not gonna help. Need … defibri... thingy.”

“You are never volunteering in sickbay. Ever.”

“Need a breathing thingy, too.”

“Well, let me give you something else to think about,” McCoy said before licking a stripe up Jim's cock to distract him from the finger moving against and into him. 

Jim's leg came up and he pressed up into McCoy, a reflexive spasm as his lungs froze. When McCoy got to the tip, he slid his tongue into the slit then leaned down to suck until his lips were nestled around the glans. He sucked lightly as he stroked his middle finger gently through Jim's tight heat. He realized Jim was still gasping, but the moans had stopped. He raised his head up and watched Jim. Jim was too still. He carefully withdrew his finger and moved up to lay full length against Jim. He raised his hands to cup Jim's cheeks, his weight balanced on his knees and elbows.

“Jim? Jim, you with me, sweetheart? Look at me, Jim.”

Jim's unfocussed eyes finally locked on McCoy's and he flushed a bit.

“You back with me now? You want to stop?”

“NO. Oh, please God. No. Please don't stop.”

“What happened, there?”

“It was just too much suddenly. Sometimes I... go away... when it gets too strong.” Jim shrugged and smiled ruefully. “Sorry about that. Didn't mean to kill the mood.”

McCoy kissed Jim slowly, tenderly, trying to convey with lips and tongue and hands how he felt, how much he loved Jim. 

“I already told you. Apologize when you have somethin' to be sorry for.”

Jim stared at him then drew his head down and kissed him, tongue teasing and exploring, a heated languid confirmation of McCoy's kiss.

“Damn, Jim. You do that again and I ain't gonna be able to keep from comin'.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he responded, voice gravelly with arousal, before nipping at McCoy's lips and chin.

“I wouldn't really mind if you took up where you left off, Bones.” It was said with a press on McCoy's shoulders, urging the man back down between Jim's legs.

“You sure, Jim? There's other things we can do.”

“Absolutely not. Get to work, old man. Make my toes curl.”

“Bossy asshole.”

“The rest of me is, too.”

McCoy rolled his eyes and kissed the tip of Jim's cock. “Stay with me, Jim. I wanna hear you. If it gets too much you tell me and I'll ease off, got it?”

“Yeah.” He paused a minute. Shyly, a thing McCoy never thought he'd witness, Jim said, “Thanks, Bones. Thanks for understanding and not making a big deal out of it.”

Gruffly, McCoy said, “Just a part of you, Jim. I am gonna make a big deal out of you, though. Deal with it.”

Jim grinned before sucking in a deep breath as McCoy slid his mouth down Jim's cock, sinking to the base as his finger resumed its leisurely exploration of Jim's hole. Jim let out a high-pitched whine and sunk his fingers into McCoy's hair again, this time pulling a little before realizing and letting up. 

“Bones. Bones.” Jim was mumbling disjointedly and his free hand was fisting the bedspread while his hips started a slow rocking. McCoy braced his free arm across Jim's hips, pinning him in place as he sucked back up Jim's length, savoring the tang of pre-come.

McCoy slipped in a second finger and paused as Jim tensed. He pulled back to free his mouth. “How long since you've bottomed?”

“Nnngh. Uh. Fuck, Bones. You want me to think? Now?”

“That long, huh?”

“Been a while,” Jim admitted.

“Good to know.”

McCoy resumed his movements, fingers pressing and rotating minutely until Jim relaxed enough to allow him to move them in a rhythmic push-pull-slide-circle that had Jim moaning and pressing down in an abortive rocking motion. McCoy tongued his way along Jim's cock before kissing his way along the length back to the head. When he slid a third finger in he bobbed his head slowly, varying the suction to prevent pushing Jim too close to the edge.

He circled his fingers around Jim's prostate, the stimulation building pleasure slowly, in easily managed amounts. Scissoring his fingers, he began stroking in and out again, moving his head on Jim's dick in a matching pattern. Jim was breathing harshly, gasps and groans punctuated by “Bones” and “More” and “Oh, god, please” and little whines that made McCoy's toes curl. After a few direct presses to Jim's prostate he finally sank his fingers in and held his fingers against Jim's prostate in a steady pressure while he rubbed his thumb against Jim's perineum hard, and swallowed around Jim's cock. He was rewarded by a fresh flow of pre-come and Jim curling his shoulders up off the bed, both hands fisted in McCoy's hair.

“Now, Bones, now, can't wait, need you, love you, please, please,” Jim babbled as his hands hooked under McCoy's arms and hauled him up bodily. McCoy barely got his fingers out and his cock into position before Jim was wrapping his legs around him and tugging. McCoy braced and slid in as slowly as he could manage, holding his breath at the _oh, god, so tight, so hot, don't come, don't come yet_.

He froze when he was bottomed out, waiting for Jim to relax enough to move. 

“Bones, too good, feels too good, dying, don't stop, please.”

Jim was babbling and McCoy's head was filled with the white noise of his pulse as he slid out and pressed back in with a slow, sensuous grinding. He reached down to grasp Jim's hand, threading their fingers together and pressing Jim's hand to the bed by his ear. He leaned down and slotted their mouths together, tongue mimicking his cock's movement through Jim's heat and Jim rocked his hips in a stuttering rhythm and it was all heatwetslidecoilingpleasure and then Jim was coming hard between their bodies, the musky fluid spreading as McCoy jerked and buried himself in Jim, freezing there while he pumped out his own release before rocking a few more times as he rode out his orgasm. 

They held that way for a few minutes, McCoy laying on Jim, gasps mingling and fingers still interlocked before McCoy rolled off and got a washcloth to clean them up. As McCoy ran the warm water, Jim stared at the bathroom door, tears in his eyes. _He made love to me. Bones just made love to me_. Jim had been wrong. He'd thought he had experienced everything, but in this he had still been a virgin. His heart heated when he thought dazedly, _Bones was my first. My only_.

~O~

They had their share of stupid fights and trials, moments where Jim would disassociate, or get irrationally angry, times where McCoy would say something insensitive at the wrong time or would have his own insecurities, but they worked through them, and what more could one ask of the person each had chosen to spend the rest of their lives with?

 

   
 

**Author's Note:**

> It should go without saying that I don't know or own or profit from these characters. I'm just amusing myself. I apologize for the comma-abuse and other grammar sins. Also for my inability to write porn well. This isn't exactly the way it is on LJ, but the differences should be minor. I edited it after I posted it there, but edited this from my original doc to post here. Please note that I'm not a psychologist/psychiatrist/therapist and this is in no way intended to accurately reflect the proper treatment of an abuse survivor. This is only fanfic, nothing more.


End file.
